


Intervention

by JPeterson



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, The third option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPeterson/pseuds/JPeterson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”I don't make the rules.”</p><p>”Bullshit. You wrote the book.”</p><p>”And lost complete control of it the very second they had both free will and emotion. Remember that.”</p><p>”Whatever.” A glum sigh. ”We're been trying for ages and all she keeps doing is going back over and over, and now she went and got herself shot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

”This is stupid.”

”I know.”

”It truly shouldn't be that difficult.”

”I know.”

”It's also really getting on my nerves that we have to _let_ them figure it out on their own _._ ”

A low, wry laugh. ”Believe me, _I know_. I can hear you pacing.”

”Hrmph.” There's a sigh, and then, softer than before: ”Free will always was the dumbest idea you ever had.”

”Mm.” Very non-committal. ”You can't deny that it's always been interesting.”

”Urgh. You know some of them had a curse once, right? 'May you live in interesting times'?”

”And how would you be able to needle me with that one if they _didn't_ have free will?” A soft scratching; like a quill against parchment. ”Besides, I dare you to deny how much you enjoy it when they do figure it out.”

”I'm not denying anything,” is the disgruntled response. ”It's just so... so damned _stupid!_ The solution should be obvious!”

”That's _your_ doing. They don't think very clearly when strong emotion is involved, and _that_ , you cannot pin on me.”

”Shut up.”

Silence.

”Fine. Don't shut up.”

”Thank you.”

”Ass.”

More silence.

A short, huffed breath, and then, explosively: ”I just don't get it! How in all the innumerable heavens is it so hard for her to think of _letting_ the guy go into the bathroom, _waiting_ outside it and then _catching_ the girl before _she_ goes in?! She doesn't even have be obvious about it! A simple 'Hey, what's-his-face went in there and had a weird-looking bulge under his jacket' should be enough. Hell, why not tell the over-charged security guy that one, the guy is in the _girl's_ bathroom or two, that he seems to be carrying a weapon?”

A soft chuckle.

”And you! Don't even get me started on you! You're the one who won't let me do anything but sit on some stinky bucket – which is _ice cold_ , thank you very much – flap my wings and then fly off.”

”I don't make the rules.”

”Bullshit. You wrote the book.”

”And lost complete control of it the very second they had both free will _and_ emotion. Remember that.”

”Whatever.” A glum sigh. ”We're been trying for ages and all she keeps doing is going back over and over, and now she went and got _herself_ shot.”

”Yes, you told me.”

”Then why aren't you _doing_ something?”

”Because I can't!” Loud, frustrated. ”You know that! I have to keep my distance!” The sharp screech of a chair being shoved back, and hard, angry footsteps. ”Every other time, _every other pair_ , and it's worked out. They've found the right way. But these two cannot _because they feel too much!_ ”

”So now it's _my_ fault?!”

Long pause, and finally, a slow breath. ”No. It's no one's fault. This pair just means too much to each other, and with the little one dying, there isn't going to be another try.” More footsteps, but softer now. ”I guess we'll lose this one.”

A slow tapping of fingers and the click of a tongue. Then, thoughtfully: ”But it would be a... _viable_ solution, yes? If she got shot, but didn't die?”

”I suppose it would. I don't see how speculating is going to change the outcome, however.”

”You could technically save her.”

”I _have to k_ \--”

”-- keep your distance. Yes, I know.” The shuffle of a slumped body straightening; footsteps, approaching. ”But I don't. Isn't there... something I can do? Something you can _give me_ , maybe? To-- to pass on, to help her live?”

Several minutes of silence. Then, abruptly, the creak of wood and a snapped breath.

”Yes there is.” Smug. Satisfied. ”Thank you for reminding me; I haven't had cause to use it for ages. Before your time, actually.”

”Do-- uh.” Cough. ”Does it have to be ha-- handed over like that?”

”Not necessarily. I just wanted an excuse to kiss you.”

“... you really are the damnedest thing.”

A laugh; soft, sly and a little bit shy. “I know.”

xXxXx

It's fortunate that there's a window open, even if it isn't the right one. It's doubly fortunate that no one really notices the oddly focused fluttering of a butterfly in the hospital hallways, or the way it perches patiently in a corner of the elevator until someone finally has it stop at the right floor.

It takes entirely too long a time for it to make its way to the right room; enough that when it finally gets there and has to wiggle its way in under the door, it's well into the night.

The room is quiet, aside from the steady beeping of a heart monitor and two sets of breathing; one so soft it's barely there, and the other interrupted by the uneasy murmurs that come with cruel dreams. The butterfly hovers briefly by the one that murmurs – the taller one, who's sitting on a chair instead of laying in a bed – and flutters its wings close enough to just barely brush against her skin.

She quiets, and seems to sleep peacefully.

The butterfly moves on; slipping silently through the darkened room and landing feather-light on the cheek of the small one; pale even against the sterile white of the sheets. It's wings move slowly – not enough to lift – and then it stills entirely; tense, tenacious, _trying,_ until it shudders once and there may be just a single, minuscule flash of red mist no larger than its source.

For a brief instant – not enough to set anything off, but just enough to notice – the heart monitor pauses, and then resumes; somehow stronger. The butterfly flickers and then fades, with a near-inaudible sound that may have been a relieved sigh.

Tomorrow, Maxine Caulfield will wake up.

And the girl slumped over her bedside will finally allow herself to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally have no idea (other than this one - heh), but it wouldn't leave me alone.


End file.
